


Just in Time

by sashach



Series: Evanstan by Anie [10]
Category: Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, English translation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 17:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10904061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashach/pseuds/sashach
Summary: “New York has turned cold; I’m glad you can come tonight,” Sebastian murmurs. Lips curled, his eyes go back to the audience and land on that man again. Sebastian seems to be speaking to the crowd, but there’s only him in his eyes. “I love you.”





	Just in Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anie/gifts).
  * A translation of [Evanstan短篇合集](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6884074) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Translator's note:  
> As usual, this translation is not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please let me know if you spot any errors. If you like this story, please head over to the original story and leave a kudo or comment on Chapter 39. Thanks for reading!

It is far more difficult to board an on schedule flight during the change of seasons than keeping accumulated cigarette ashes intact. It has been raining in Europe, the breeze in the city near the sea is chilly and smells of the salty ocean. Chris is pacing back and forth in the departure lounge, constantly looking at his watch. He can wait for the rain to stop, wait for the plane, but he doesn’t have the time to wait.

The bilingual broadcast in the airport is announcing the latest information, the perfect trill a rumble in the throat. Chris is getting his fourth cup of coffee at the self-service coffee station as he listens attentively for the departure time.

He‘s in the city to discuss a project. He has flown all the distance in his well-pressed suit, wearing the tie he has carefully picked. The tie is a gift from someone across the Atlantic Ocean. It is simple but beautiful. There is not a single wrinkle on it as he rarely wears it.

Some passengers are slouched on their seats fast asleep, and Chris has been waiting anxiously. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes it on his arm. Two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the air in the departure lounge seeps through the opening of the shirt; damp and humid. He is slapping the ticket in his hand on his palm unthinkingly.

When Chris boards the plane that has finally arrived, the flight attendant is still checking the names of the passengers against their list. He has spent extra cash for an upgrade; the space is so much roomier. Chris’ seat in the last row, only a small light shining above him.

“Chris Evans?” asks the flight attendant.

“Yes,” Chris frowns slightly, nodding his head.

Although it’s late, he’s finally taken off.

 

****

 

With four cups of coffee already in his stomach, Chris stays away from the in-flight meal. From the window, he can see the dark, thick clouds hanging outside. By the time he arrives in New York, it’s already afternoon. Chris is well-adjusted to jet lag thanks to frequent business traveling. He has a ton of paperwork waiting to be dealt with and a more important thing to do later that evening. His assistant picks him up at the airport and drives him straight to his office. It’s late autumn, and the dampness on the road never seem to dissipate even though it’s only drizzling.

His assistant hands him a sandwich and a bottle of water. The traffic is heavy when they enter New York City. Car owners rushing for time express their displeasure by honking their shrill car horns. Chris rips open the package of the sandwich and takes a bite into the thick ham. He takes out his phone from his pocket and scrolls through his contacts to the one starting with an “s” and fires off a message rapidly.

When they drive past the intersection, his phone remains silent without a single reply.

The other person must be swamped like him and has no time to look at their phone.

 

****

 

Chris goes to his office first to put down some important documents and then catch up with accumulated tasks. The contract is lengthy and complicated, and the lack of sleep makes him drowsy every now and then; the words before him twisting into odd shapes. He opens the cabinet in the pantry to look for coffee powder and finds only a pile of milk.

Only Sebastian would do such a thing.

The man who had given him the tie, the man whose coffee consists of 90% milk.

Sebastian doesn’t come here a lot, but every time he does, he would pick on Chris’ chaotic and hectic career and scoff at him. He only leaves two packs of cigarettes for him in the office and stocks the cabinet up with the milk he has bought for the one cup of coffee he drinks. 

He is a singer; his livelihood depends on his throat. Sebastian led a crazy life when he was younger, and now he contemplates on the meaning of life.

They have been together for a very long time. Through the years, Chris has worked from an average department manager up to his current position, and Sebastian was a resident singer before becoming the Billboard artiste that he is now. Looking back at those naive days when even purchasing a guitar would take a lot of considerations, it had been tough.

Chris still remembers how difficult it was to woo Sebastian. A text reply would have him ecstatically elated; his fingers would tremble because he didn’t know what to type, editing and deleting repeatedly and when he finally hit send, it was like he’d just gone through a fierce battle.

 

****

 

One story is worth bringing up though.

It was 3:20 in the morning when Chris Evans received that text message. His sleepy brain was awakened by the sudden luminance of his cellphone screen. His phone was buzzing on the table that was piled with junks, glaring light shining. Chris sat up, lips numb and eyes dry from the lack of sleep. He searched the stack of beer cans and wine glasses and fished out his phone successfully. He wiped away the drops of alcohol on the screen.

The message was from Sebastian. Two hours ago, the message box had only one lonely message from the poor Mr. Chris Evans who had just hosted a family party and was too exhausted to even lift up his arms.

Chris thought he was going to die from thirst. He opened the already empty fridge to find his nephews had pilfered all drinking water and juices. Luckily, he found a can of half drank beer.

He went back to the couch and opened the reply that was two hours late. It said, “Hey, I thought you were Christian Bale,”

That’s not funny, right? Chris would never admit that the message he had sent Sebastian was _Do you know the Court of Owls?_

What could he do? Batman was playing on TV at the time when he wanted to talk to Sebastian.

Sebastian had teased him amicably with the incident for the longest time and cited it a classic example of “how to swiftly put an end to a pick up.”

“You should have carried on with the topic and ask me something else,” Sebastian was sitting on the couch, grinning so hard that his cheeks were puffed up. “For example, the Riddler. I fucking love that dude!”

_How would I know you like the Riddler?_ Chris shrugged and leaned forward, pulling his hand out from the pillow to prevent Sebastian from falling off the couch with it. When he grabbed Sebastian’s hand, the younger man held his wrist instead. Sebastian blinked his grey-blue eyes, and Chris found his lips being pressed against lightly.

He barely reacted in time, and Sebastian was once again amused. Sebastian had a peppermint tablet in his mouth, and his sentences were unclear when he spoke. Chris decided to sit down and kissed the tiny crinkles spreading out from his squinted eyes, and his puffed up cheeks and the moist, shiny lips that his tongue had wetted.

His little singer likes the Riddler. What should he do? Should he get him a Riddler’s costume for his performance?

When he has finished the emergency paperwork, time is almost running out. Chris takes the car and goes home to put down his luggage. Then he delivers the things that Scott had left in his apartment to the bar as he has promised previously.

“You’re going to the performance?” Scott puts the ice pick aside, and half leans on the bar counter. “Traffic at this hour is jam-packed.”

Chris considers that and agrees. He looks at the time and decides to leave his car there and go by foot instead.

The venue isn’t too far. It’s a small auditorium, and the tickets were sold out the moment they went on sale.

 

****

 

The sky is already dark; streetlights pave the sidewalk with brightness. He has been working round the clock the entire day, and now he’s stepping on the damp pavement, walking through familiar streets with pedestrians brushing past him, melodic music and delicious aroma of coffee drifting out from the doors of the coffee shops on the street.

He’s running late. He’s running late.

Chris jogs the distance, perspiration dotting his forehead. He has three missed calls, but he doesn’t seem tired at all.

When he comes to the entrance of the auditorium, admittance to the concert is closed; the exuberance inside is entirely different from outside. Sebastian’s assistant takes Chris through the door to the backstage to the middle seat in the first row that Sebastian has reserved for him. Everyone is standing, the spotlight sweeps across the stage and stops on Sebastian. He is holding a microphone, saying his opening. It is dark in the auditorium aside from a few dim lights.

Sebastian’s voice pauses a moment. He glances across the audience and manages to find the travel-worn man. The latter is breathless from running, his hair is a little mussed, his suit is rather crumpled, and the tie is the familiar one.

He is a traveler who has returned from a long trip, weary and exhausted, but when he meets Sebastian’s gaze, he beams.

Their eyes connect for a second and Sebastian lifts his head to look at the audience.

“New York has turned cold; I’m glad you can come tonight,” Sebastian murmurs. Lips curled, his eyes go back to the audience and land on that man again. Sebastian seems to be speaking to the crowd, but there’s only him in his eyes. “I love you.”

Chris’ reply is drowned by even louder cheering and screaming. With all the noise and music around him, he yells back at the stage, “I love you, too!”

He is late, but he still made it.


End file.
